God's Hands
by Tashaelizabeth
Summary: Your dear writer's experiments with Chouse. SLASH
1. Chapter 1

He sat in his office chair, rubbing his right hand with his left.

It isn't working; the pain in his palm was sharp and precise, like stigmata. It reminds him of the first few weeks after one takes up the guitar. Except, of course, this is in his right.

He rubs harder, but it isn't working. House adds this to his long list of proof there is no God, or at least no loving and compassionate God. A fuzzy wuzzy New Testament type creator would not have designed humans so that it takes two hands to rub the cramps out of one. That's just mean.

Chase sighs.

Chase has been trying to explain something to him for the last ten minutes. House hasn't been paying attention and because he hasn't been paying attention, he assumes whatever Chase has been saying isn't important. He often lets his brain self-regulate like this and it will no doubt get him into a shitload of trouble someday.

He rubs his hand.

Chase throws down the file he'd been holding and drops sharply into the chair across the desk.

"Give me," Chase says.

He has one palm upward as though he is asking to borrow a pencil and House, for the life of him, can't figure out what is being asked

Chase grabs his right hand roughly and drives his thumbs into House's palm.

It hurts, but in a really good way.

House's eyes fall closed

"I can pay someone to do that, you know," he says.

"Sure," Chase says, but doesn't stop. House raises an eyelid and sees Chase's face, looking intently down, as though House's palm was his own personal human game boy.

House stifles a groan.

"Does that feel good?" Chase asks.

Further proof God doesn't exist. If he did Australian accents wouldn't have this immediate effect on his libido. Unless of course there is a God and God hates him. Which is possible.

"What?" House asks.

"Does that feel good?"

He's doing this on purpose, House decides, he's doing this on goddamn purpose.

"Yes," he grits between his teeth. "Yes, that feels good."

"So…can I?"

House nearly says yes automatically, before he realizes he has no idea what Chase is asking. Not that it matters too much, if Chase keeps rubbing his hand _like that _he can have his wallet, his car, his fucking soul if there's any of that left.

"Can you what?" House asked.

Chase wraps his hand around House's first finger and pulls slowly, twisting slightly. House feels his knuckle crack. Chase repeats this on his middle finger. "Have Friday off if I get someone else to cover my clinic hours?" Chase continues to pull his fingers one after the other until each knuckle cracked.

"Do I care?"

"No. But, you're my boss. I have to ask someone."

Chase has stopped rubbing and is simply holding House's hand between his own.

"Yeah," House says. "Whatever."

Chase flashes one of those thousand watt smiles.

"Thanks boss," he says, returning House's hand. He picks up his case file and leaves.

House watches the door swing shut, slowly flexing his hand.

Now he has an entirely different problem.


	2. Chapter 2

Chase comes rushing into the office.

At the doorway, he stops as though suddenly encountering a glass wall. He looks from side to side, confused.

"You beeped me," he says, holding up the offending electronic device.

House sits in his office chair, arms folded on the desktop, his head lying on his forearms. He pops up a moment, gritting teeth.

"I need those magic hands." Chase wonders if House tries to make everything sound dirty or if it just happens that way.

Chase drops the beeper in his lab coat and removes it, laying the white fabric over a chair. "Your shoulder?"

"Right one."

Chase skirts around behind him with a shy smile. Delicately raising House's arm to slide the suit jacket off it, Chase breathes in a little at the reveal of House's arms.

House's right arm is impressive, the muscles achingly defined. Chase struggles to ignore it.

"Ready?" he asks, pressing on hand against House's shoulder blade and gripping taunt bicep with the other.

"Yeah," House mutters, in a way that sounds like 'no.'

Chase pushes and pulls and something in House's back pops back into its rightful place.

House grunts and lowers his head onto the desk.

House's skin is hot through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He curls his hands around House's shoulders and presses his thumbs into the back of House's neck. House groans and goose bumps introduce themselves all over Chase's body.

He doesn't understand why this keeps happening. If it really hurts, he knows House would go down to PT and trade barbs with the physical therapist. If it really hurt, he'd just up his painkiller schedule. So why this?

Unless House is messing with him.

House groans again and Chase jumps, muscles tensing at the noise.

Yeah, House could be messing with him, Chase decides. He could be recognizing the…effect…these stolen moments had on Chase. He could be pushing it just because he has to push things and…

House groans again, loudly.

Chase flushes. House is definitely messing with him; there is no way he is that good at rubbing shoulders. He pushes his thumbs higher, into the soft spot at the base of House's skull.

"Does that feel good?" he asks. He always winds up asking like this when what he really means is _Oh God, please tell me I'm doing this right._

"Yeah," House says in a rough pleased voice. "That feels real good."

Chase's fingers go into House's hair, scratching the scalp. He can feel the shape of House's skull between his hands; the sides of his hands graze House's ears.

"What the hell?"

Chase snatches back his hands, jamming them into the pockets of his jeans before realizing he doesn't really want to call attention to his crotch. He pulls his hands out, tries to put them into the pockets of the jacket he isn't wearing, runs them through his hair and grabs his tie.

He takes a breath, pulling his tie with both hands.

_Casual_. He thinks. _Look casual. _

Cameron has stopped in the doorway, an annoyed look causing her mouth to drop open unattractively. "Paige is dying!" she says.

House pulls his head off the desk, looking sleepily from Cameron to Chase. "Who's Paige?" he asks.

Chase shrugs.

"Our patient!"

"Oh _Paige_," House says, grabbing his cane and rising from his desk. "Why didn't you say so?" He takes the file from Cameron and walks out of the room.


End file.
